Dean King's Story Has Been Featured By Several Media Publications

The Boy Who Swallows Universe and Dean King

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If crime didn’t pay, there wouldn’t be any – but that isn’t good career advice. The downside of the dark side is that the risks are high and the superannuation lousy: old crooks end up dead or dead broke. Few get famous, even fewer live to see themselves in books or on the screen. Gary Lawrence isn’t famous.

But the old-time hard man this week gets to see a “factional” version of himself played by one of the most dashing Australian actors to crack Hollywood, Travis Fimmel. There was a time when Lawrence reckoned he wouldn’t make 30, let alone 80. He was renowned for serving the most time in Brisbane’s Boggo Road Jail without actually being convicted of murder. Lawrence was a rare creature: a genuinely staunch crook who’d never struck a deal with police to stitch up another offender. But it wasn’t until a character based on him featured in the best-selling book Boy Swallows Universe that the wider world glimpsed the streetfighter with the soft heart.

The book’s author, journalist Trent Dalton, drew on a cast of characters from a childhood spent in the suburban badlands among losers and boozers, addicts and dealers and killers. His genius is to sieve gold dust and silver linings from dark clouds and desperation. Where others, even his own brothers, might recall more misery than magic, Dalton weaves a mesmerising tale that is part love story, part fantasy and part homage to flawed heroes. One is his mother, named “Frankie Bell” in the new Netflix series based on his book.

One is convicted murderer and serial jail escapee “Slim” Halliday, the “Houdini of Boggo Road”, who babysat the Dalton kids and is played by Bryan Brown in the series. One is his natural father Noel Dalton, the “Robert Bell” played so powerfully by Simon Baker that Trent was moved to tears about the alcoholic no-hoper who gave him hope through a love of books and reading.

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But the most powerful and appealing adult figure in the screen version is Fimmel’s character “Lyle Orlik”, based squarely on Lawrence – who, in real life, shielded Dalton’s mother from bad choices and treated her and her small boys with rare kindness. On paper, Lawrence was just another recidivist crook. But he won respect. Even in the snakepit of prison, both officers and inmates trusted him as a straight shooter.

As head cook, he was unofficial “king of Boggo Road.” One jail mate, gambler Robert North, recalls the long-ago Christmas Day when a young prisoner, a red-headed tearaway named Dean King, was turning 21. Maybe the kid reminded Lawrence of his younger self. He made him a birthday cake and the prisoners in his yard signed a card and sang “Happy Birthday.” North, who knows Lawrence well, says it was one of the kindest acts he saw in prison, one that ultimately helped steer young King away from crime and into a productive life.

Outside, Lawrence amazed the few people willing to employ a tattooed, hard-swearing jailbird because he was a hard worker, trustworthy and capable – apart from occasionally pulling a robbery during his lunch break. It was Lawrence who set up the Dalton boys with a big playhouse, complete with an air conditioner, behind the house he got their mother in Ipswich, near Brisbane. And it was Lawrence the robber turned drug-dealer – and self-taught builder – who made an underground hideaway beneath the bathroom with a disguised entrance in the floor of a cupboard.

The adult Trent Dalton later re-imagined this secret bunker as an escape hatch for his childhood alter-ego, Eli Bell, the wildly imaginative boy whose story of survival is the heart of the story. It was only later, as a talented, street-smart young reporter mixing with lawyers, police and seasoned crime writers that Dalton realised how much he knew about who was who in the criminal zoo.

Gary Lawrence’s offhand decency was the most surprising thing about him. He had gangster attributes, too. Especially violence – but towards other violent men, not women and children. It was after Lawrence went back to jail that the Dalton kids’ world turned dark: their mother succumbed to a heroin habit that Lawrence had helped keep at bay, and she fell in with parasites and predators. She ended in jail herself, which might have saved her life.

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The most searing scene in the book is one straight from the memory of a terrified child: it is of a bad man dragging his mother by the hair and pushing her face into a dish of dog food. There are many flights of fancy in Boy Swallows Universe but that’s not one of them.

It’s from the life that Dalton escaped but cannot forget. Unsaid is that nothing like that would have happened if Gary Lawrence had still been around.

His roughcast chivalry underpins the story.

It explains why a robber with a head like a robber’s dog (the real Lawrence) gets to be played (as “Lyle Orlik”) by Travis Fimmel, who was the world’s most wanted male model before he took up acting, notably as the Viking chief Ragnar Lothbrok in the television series Vikings.

Fimmel, tall and athletic, had been a contender to play elite AFL football with St Kilda before he had the luck to break a leg, which turned him towards working on camera and won him fame and fortune.

Lawrence, by contrast, was a twice-orphaned street kid, teenage wharf labourer, apprentice jockey and bloodhouse boxer who did his weight training in jail, not in fashionable gyms frequented by talent scouts. These days, he sees more cows than people and likes it that way, living in a happy relationship that has lasted more than 20 years. He hasn’t seen Trent in person for years but they talk on the phone a lot.

He made a rare trip to Brisbane in 2021 to see the live stage production of Boy Swallows Universe and has been looking forward to the Netflix version. He’s not big on sentiment, but he’s proud that the little boy who loved him and called him “Dad” is such a success.

A few years ago, he had to get a birth certificate. It tells him his birth mother was Patricia Yvette Cook and that she was born at Echuca in Victoria.

Which is, strangely, the same district that Travis Fimmel comes from. It’s a small universe, after all.

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From Manslaughter to Self-made Millionaire

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Raised on what were then Sydney’s tough inner-west streets Dean King was charged with murder after a botched robbery as his life spiralled out of control. But he overcame his demons to forge a life he never would have imagined sitting in Long Bay jail.

Charged with murder at 15, jailed for manslaughter at 16, respected millionaire businessman by his 30s.

Dean King’s journey from the big house to the penthouse is a redemption parable ripped from the pages of a novel. The fact that he is even alive to tell his story is more remarkable still.

By his own admission 58-year-old King could have been in jail or dead, either from a heroin overdose or one crime too many. Instead, King lives on Gold Coast beachfront, having come to terms with his life of crime thanks to intensive rehabilitation after spending much of his early life in a swirl of drugs, violence and jail.

King opens up to Gary Jubelin on his treacherous childhood and criminal past, the moment his life changed forever and how he then went on to make millions in the decade that followed in the next episode of I Catch Killers, to be released on Monday.

At the core of his criminal past, King reveals to Jubelin that he had no understanding of empathy or emotional trauma until he entered rehabilitation where he confronted his life of anger and resentment. He said up until then he never had any issues committing crimes.

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“I couldn’t comprehend what was a form of pain other than physical pain. I didn’t know what internal struggle was. I couldn’t relate to that. I had no comprehension of internal struggle. I just put that (down to) weakness when anybody was like that,” King says.

King had already been in and out of boys’ homes throughout his youth, having done a juvenile criminal apprenticeship on what were then the tough streets of Sydney’s inner-west during the 1970s where his alcoholic father once gave him 20 cents for bashing the paperboy.

“What was tough was the emotional neglect was really hard … nor did I get soothed. That had the biggest impact on my life, the no affection, the no touching, the no love, the no caring,” King says.

Life was just as brutal outside the home.

“I got brought up around some hard people in Pyrmont, all crims. Blokes getting stabbed. Forget about Mandalay Bay in Las Vegas, (all the action was at) Harris Street, Pyrmont. There was a pub on freakin’ every corner, mate. There was a fight every night after closing at one of them. And you’d sit there as a kid going, ‘come on, have a look at this stink, they’re gonna have a stink, let’s watch ‘em’.”

By the age of 15 King’s laundry list of crimes was growing but it went to another level altogether during a botched robbery in Rozelle, where he and two others had planned to steal marijuana plants from a backyard. The resident of the property attacked the trio with a baseball bat and in an ensuing fight he was stabbed to death by one of King’s companions, 22-year-old Neville Craig. Craig was later convicted of murder, while King had his charge downgraded to manslaughter and was sentenced to five years jail.

Not that his incarceration would change his attitude towards crime. A heroin addiction he developed after his release from Mount Penang Juvenile Justice Centre in Gosford soon had his life spiralling further out of control and the next decade was a revolving door of addiction and jail time with stints at the big three of Long Bay in Sydney, Pentridge in Melbourne and Boggo Road in Brisbane.

King had never aspired or realised that he could change the criminal cycle he was trapped in, but was then offered a stint at drug rehab centre Logan House, south of Brisbane. He accepted the offer but without the purest of intentions.

“My goal was to knock off their van and I was going to drive to Sydney in their van. I was just waiting for the time and I was going to do that,” King tells Jubelin.

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But the intense style of rehabilitation which forced King to confront his actions and be accountable for who he was and what he’d done finally had its reckoning when, in a fit of fury, he repeatedly punched and headbutted a tree before collapsing in tears.

“I remember the words just coming out of my mouth, ‘I am sick to death of being controlled. I’m sick of it. I hate it. I hate institutions. I hate this place. I hate prison.’ And I just cried and cried and cried … It was like an exorcism.”

Discussing feelings and vulnerabilities is a foreign concept for most tough-talking criminals but for King it became second nature even in the prison yard when he had to return to serve time for historical charges.

His breakdown was the start of what would be a years-long recovery as he dealt with his own trauma and the pain he had caused. As he recovered King realised that if he was going to forge a new life for himself it was going to come down to one thing – effort. Slowly, one property became two and two became three.

Within a decade of leaving rehab and accepting his first job as a telemarketer King was worth almost $10 million. The money has come and gone over the years and he has no regrets.

“I’ve travelled the world, had millions and millions of dollars, run companies, I’ve employed 80 to 90 people, I’ve had labour hire companies, I’ve had crane companies, I’ve had printing companies. I’ve done work for CentreCare helping job seekers, I’ve had massive property portfolios.

“I’ve had heaps of struggles, been in court with the regulator twice that has cost me millions and millions of dollars. I’ve had so many challenges but I’m doing well. I’m still learning.”

It’s hard to recognise the angry teenager who nearly threw it all away and gave in to a criminal life that seemed to be his destiny, particularly after a night of violence that ended in a man’s death in 1980.

It’s something he says he owns but that troubled 15-year-old doesn’t reflect who he became.

“I won’t beat myself up over anything about my past. I own everything. I own it. I’ve got compassion mate, I’ve got empathy for people by my attitude and how I act and how I do care for people….(That night) was a tragedy. And it was a terrible, terrible, terrible event.

“The more you own, your thoughts, and your feelings and your actions and your decisions and your choices and your behaviours, the more ultimately you will get to the top … The more you can find within yourself to be accountable for, when you’re struggling, the more you will have a promised land to come.”

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It's no easy trip from the Bay to the Gold Coast

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For years after he left prison for the last time, in 1990, Dean King did not whisper a word of his past to anyone. He did not mention the fraud or the car thefts or his multiple aliases or the time he impersonated a police officer to force sex from prostitutes. And he certainly did not mention the murder.

''Charged with murder at 15!'' King says, shaking his head. ''I mean, it's not the sort of thing you put on your tenancy application.''

These days King does not need to fill out tenancy applications. Instead the 45-year-old father of two lives in a beachfront home on the Gold Coast.

Thanks to his several businesses and property portfolio, he is a self-made millionaire, with a penchant for business-class air travel and heli-sking holidays in Canada.

''But the money, mate, it's just a byproduct of what I've been through,'' he explains. ''You have to understand that before, I never felt any guilt. I had no empathy or compassion. I didn't know what a feeling was. So my biggest achievement is just becoming a human being.''

Alarmed by the recent vogue in TV crime drama, including Underbelly and The Golden Mile, King is determined to let people know that ''the criminal life is not like that. It's a life of fear and shame. But there is another life beyond it, if people really want it.''

King was born Dean James Kent on Christmas Day, 1964, the youngest of four children. He grew up in a three-bedroom weatherboard cottage in Pyrmont with his three siblings, seven cousins, and assorted aunts and uncles. His father, Jack, worked on the wharves; he also stole from visiting ships and supermarkets (''hams, butter, lollies, anything he could fit down his pants''). Both parents were alcoholics. ''Neither of them ever laid a loving hand on me.''

Desperate for attention, Dean would act up. At the age of seven he attacked the local paper boy in the street, biting off his ear. ''When I came back to front door, dad was standing there with a big smile on his face, and gave me 20¢.''

By the age of 12, King was smoking pot and doing LSD. At 13 he had his first ''pinch'', when he stole a woman's handbag and jumped the train to Gosford. Soon after, he punched a girl in the face at the Balmain Police Boys Club, and was charged with assault. ''I was a total arsehole of a child,'' he says.

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Late one night in March 1980, 15-year-old King and two friends went to a house in Evans Street, Rozelle, to steal some marijuana plants. They were in the backyard when a naked man emerged from the house holding a baseball bat and an iron bar. A fight broke out, and one of King's companions, a 22-year-old named Neville Craig, stabbed the man to death. All three intruders were charged with the murder: Craig was convicted, but King's charge was downgraded to manslaughter, for which he got five years.

''I was sent to Long Bay for three weeks before they transferred me to the juvenile centre at Mount Penang,'' he says. ''At the Bay, they didn't even have any clothes that fit me.''

King spent three years at Mount Penang. On his release he took up where he left off, embarking on a decade-long crime spree - break and enter, car theft, cheque fraud - that was interrupted only by jail time. He used multiple aliases across three states, eventually scoring the trifecta: imprisonment at Long Bay, Pentridge and Boggo Road.

His life was consumed principally by his heroin addiction, but also by a ceaseless self-loathing. ''I used to take acid and stand in front of the mirror for hours and just hate what I saw,'' he says. ''I used to think I was an alien I was so ugly.''

Apart from $100,000 of cheque fraud, most of King's crime was opportunistic. Once, in Brisbane in 1985, he stole a bag from a parked car. In it he found a police ID card and notebook. That night he cruised Fortitude Valley in a Brock Commodore (also stolen), stopping to pick up a prostitute in Wickham Street. As the woman got in, King flashed the police ID and told her she was under arrest. ''On second thoughts, I'll let you go if you give me a blow job …'' The woman agreed.

Things turned around only by accident. In 1989, while at Boggo Road jail, King was offered a spot at Logan House, a residential behaviour and drug rehabilitation centre outside Brisbane.

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''I thought it'd be a good way to escape,'' he says.

''I also heard they had a pool and gym and girls.''

At Logan House, King took part in ''encounter groups'', where a resident would be subjected to long and gruelling group assessments. ''It was all about honesty and accountability,'' he says. ''It sounds harsh, but it worked.''

After one particular session King started crying, and did not stop for six hours.

''It was the first time I'd cried in 20 years,'' he says.

''All the pressure lifted, and I felt replenished. I was so drained, but I felt fantastic.''

King completed the program determined not to go back to jail. On release, he got a job in a call centre, selling ad space in a trade union magazine. He worked hard and saved money; he learnt to read and write. At the suggestion of his flatmate, a real-estate agent, he bought an investment property, then sold it, making a ''little bit of money''.

Then he bought another place, and made a little bit more. In 1995 he bought a beachfront unit at Bilinga, on the Gold Coast, which he gave to his parents who were then living in public housing in Riverwood. ''I moved them up,'' King says. ''Mum loved it but dad hated it. But then he hated everything.'' By the mid 2000s, King had 13 residential properties, plus four companies and a factory at Tweed Heads, doing everything from printing to labour hire. He now also runs a job readiness program through CentaCare.

''I tell participants to be truthful, to recognise your emotions, to communicate. I say whatever you do, keep pushing beyond your fears, because all the good stuff is on the other side.

''Everything that's happened to me I've used as a learning curve. Either you learn something out of it and you mature or you are stuck.''

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Hello and welcome!

I'm Dean King.

My journey has taken me through diverse paths, shaping me into a motivational speaker, life coach, and writer. I'm dedicated to guiding individuals from darkness to light.

What I Do: I speak at various events, sharing my experiences to motivate and uplift. My talks focus on overcoming self-defeating behaviours, emphasizing total responsibility for actions, and fostering happiness and productivity.

Approach: Whether it's conferences, businesses, or one-on-one consultations, I tailor my approach to your goals. My unique model fosters relationships, communication, and personal growth.

The Power of Stories: Using anecdotes from my memoir, I address struggles, frustration, and negative beliefs. My goal is to illuminate the path from challenges to wisdom, showcasing the true meaning of courage.

Mission: Through my blog, book, and interactions, I aim to bring light to dark corners, turning struggles into hope. My words are a reminder that you have the power to become the best version of yourself.

CLICK TO START YOUR JOURNEY